


The Waves and the Wind Are Dragon's Roars

by The_Plaid_Slytherin



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, Getting to Know Each Other, House Baratheon, House Targaryen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-07-18 11:50:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16117847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Plaid_Slytherin/pseuds/The_Plaid_Slytherin
Summary: Rhaelle is sent to Storm's End to marry Lord Lyonel Baratheon's heir. It does not go entirely according to plan.





	The Waves and the Wind Are Dragon's Roars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Isilloth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isilloth/gifts).



Rhaelle was mad at everyone. 

"Oh, come on," Shaera said, leading her to the bed so she could brush her hair. "You can't still be mad. It's not __our__ fault."

"Maybe you could have married Lord Lyonel's son."

"But I'm already married." Shaera sighed happily and touched the ring on her finger. She wouldn't stop doing that.

"To __Jaehaerys__." 

"Yes," Shaera said. "And he is a wonderful husband."

"He's our __brother__." 

"And if it's good enough for Aegon the Conqueror, it's good enough for us. You'll understand one day. When you're older." 

She hoped not.

"I'm not going to marry you," she told Daeron the next day. She'd felt it was imperative that she tell him this as soon as possible lest he get any funny ideas. 

"Good," Daeron said. He was polishing his sword, though he had not used it yet.

"Are you sure?"

"Very." He examined his reflection in the sword; it was probably polished enough. "Besides, you're marrying Lord Lyonel's son."

She crouched in front of him so he had to look at her. "You might steal me away at the altar. You could kill my husband and throw me over your shoulder."

"I don't want to do that. Ask Dunk. He's the one always doing things for you."

"No, I'm making sure you _don't_ do it."

Daeron looked up. He actually looked surprised.

Rhaelle crossed her arms over her chest, satisfied that she had his attention. "Besides, it's Dunk's faultin the first place." She had not forgiven him yet. Maybe she would never forgive him. She definitely would never forgive Jenny. 

Daeron nodded. "Yes, it pretty much is all Dunk's fault."

Rhaelle was still angry every time she thought about it. All because of Jenny, Dunk had started a war. 

"You could have married Lord Lyonel's daughter, if she hadn't gone and died."

Daeron shrugged. "What will you do as a cupbearer anyway? How much does Lord Baratheon drink?"

Rhaelle sniffed at him. "Have fun at Highgarden." 

"Thank you. I intend to." 

She stalked off, still seething. Now was a good time to go and make her grievances known to Dunk. She might never see him again, and he had to know how she really felt. 

She might die, she decided. She might go to Storm's End and get blown away, or drown, or eaten by something. 

It was with great purpose that she marched to Dunk's room. He was in there with Jenny, of course. He was playing the harp and singing for her. They were truly sickening. 

_I loved a maid as white as winter_  
With moonglow in her hair.  
My sister is here  
She has not been taught to knock.  
  
"Hello, Rhaelle," Jenny said, looking up. She had a pretty, toothy smile. Perhaps she had somehow bewitched Dunk.

"I'm leaving tomorrow," she said stiffly. "I am going to do my duty and wed Lord Lyonel's son."

Dunk plucked his harp idly. Why did boys always fool with things when she was talking to them? "Oh? I did not know you were going to wed him right away."

"I will _eventually_ ," she bit out. Why did no one take anything seriously? 

"My best wishes to you. May he find you as sweet as I find Lady Jenny." He lay back on the bed and took Jenny's hand, bringing it to his lips. She laughed and pushed him away. Rhaelle rolled her eyes.

"I am a princess of the Seven Kingdoms," she added. "And I know my duty."

Dunk sat up and laid his harp aside. "You are the good one, then. Father must wish he could make you his heir."

"Really?" Rhaelle sort of liked the idea of being queen.

"He told Ser Duncan he wished you were a son."

"You're lying." 

"I'm not." He kept plucking at his harp. "Why would I lie to you?"

"Duncan," Jenny admonished. She reached out and took Rhaelle's hand. "You're doing something very brave for your family and your kingdom."

Rhaelle didn't think it was brave. Brave was doing what Dunk had done (brave and stupid). 

"Thank you, Lady Jenny," she said. She curtsied politely and left.

They were all there to bid her good-bye when she left. Father and Mother made her promise to write. Shaera and Jaehaerys were still being silly at each other. Daeron would not hug her, probably because she had made him think about marrying her. 

Jenny put a flower in her hair. "You won't see flowers like this in the stormlands," she told Rhaelle. "Too much rain for that." 

Then, it was Dunk left. He hugged her close.

"Thank you," he breathed, too quiet for anyone else to hear, even Jenny. "I would not have been able to live with myself if I had lost Father the stormlands. One would have followed another, if Lord Lyonel had prevailed, and we would have lost everything our ancestors worked so hard to achieve. You're better than me, Rhae."

Rhaelle frowned and allowed Ser Duncan the Tall to help her into the saddle. He would be taking her as far as Storm's End and then returning and she would be all on her own. 

"You will not have a Kingsguard," Father had told her. "You will not need one when you are married, for you will be Lady of Storm's End, not a princess of the Iron Throne."

She'd nodded numbly to this, but as they plodded down the Kingsroad, she could not help but think that she was leaving all her life behind her. 

"I didn't want this," she muttered petulantly, though no one could hear her. 

At least Ser Duncan talked to her. They talked the whole way, about Lord Lyonel and all that had happened in the past. It wasn't making this any easier, but she felt as though she knew what to expect. 

Still, she was nervous.

They spent every night at some castle along the way and the resident lord or knight was always talking about how loyal he was to Father. Rhaelle didn't know how much she believed this, considering how the stormlords had risen with Lyonel, but she held her tongue. Ser Duncan was with her and she trusted him.

At long last, they ran out of road, and there Storm's End was, rising out of the cliff ahead as though it was part of it.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Ser Duncan asked. He was smiling. "The Baratheons are justly proud of it, for it has never fallen."

Lord Lyonel and Lady Ellena were there to greet her, as was their son.

Ser Duncan helped her down from her palfrey, and she made her curtsy. 

"My lady." 

Rhaelle allowed herself to look at him, this man she was going to marry (hopefully not very soon).

He looked like his father—broad of shoulder, with long black hair. He had a scar on his cheek, and Rhaelle knew he'd gotten it facing Dunk in single combat. 

She curtsied again. "It is an honor to make your acquaintance."

He kissed her hand, making Rhaelle blush. A funny tingling feeling ran all the way to the tips of her toes. Was this what Shaea was talking about?

She did not find out much more. Within six months, Ser Rogar Baratheon was dead of a summer fever and Rhaelle's world was cast into uncertainty.  
__  
**  
_  
_ Ormund stopped his mount suddenly, though he was not quite sure why.

"What are you doing?" Harbert asked. Harbert was generally tiresome, but he had been even more so in the last three months, since the raven had arrived at Antler Keep.

Ormund rolled his shoulders. "I'm getting ready." 

Harbert snorted. "What is there to be ready for? You're going to go round that bend and see the big castle you're going to be lord of and the princess you're going to marry."

Ormund grit his teeth. "I didn't ask for this."

"You could let me marry the princess." 

Ormund glowered at him. Harbert had this way of acting like he was joking when he really wasn't joking at all. He urged his horse forward, forcing Harbert to follow. His princess was in there. He was going to meet his wife today.

They came out of the forest and Ormund stopped his horse again. Harbert reined up alongside him. Even he was speechless. 

Ormund shook his hair out of his eyes and craned his neck. Storm's End seemed to go on forever into the sky. Antler Keep would have been an outbuilding of Storm's End.

"You think you're ready?" Harbert asked.

"No."

Harbert smiled grimly. "You'll have to be." 

Ormund frowned and followed him. It wasn't his fault he was inheriting Storm's End and not leaky, wooden Antler Keep. It wasn't his fault that the son of their grandfather's cousin had died, leaving Ormund the heir. And it wasn't his fault that the brother in between them existed, keeping Harbert from inheriting anything. Which had been exactly his position before the raven. 

It started to rain as they were halfway up the hill, leaving them soaked as they hailed the guard at the gates. It wasn't the welcome Ormund had expected, though Lyonel had just died. He supposed they were still in mourning. 

When they entered the hall, it was dark and empty. 

Ormund stopped short, surprised. He supposed he would have thought they knew he was coming. 

He was about to ask Harbert what they should do, when they heard footsteps on the stairs. He looked up.

She was truly the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her face was smudged with dirt and loose strands of silver-gold hair where escaping the simple braid. He still thought she was beautiful.

That had to be her. That had to be his princess.

"You are he?" she asked. She sounded tired, as though his arrival was an inconvenience. He was about to reply when he realized she was addressing Harbert. 

" _I_ am he," he said, stepping in front of his brother. Curse his being taller, even though he was two years younger than Ormund. "I'm Ormund. Ormund Baratheon. This is my _younger_ brother Harbert."

She nodded once, as though this information was now slotted into place. "Welcome, Lord Ormund. And… Harbert. I am Rhaelle." She paused, a brief, awkward smile gracing her lips. "Your wife to be." 

Ormund decided he ought to bow to her, so he did. Harbert did as well.

"I apologize for the poor welcome," she said, descending the last few stairs. "We did not know when to expect you." She was looking around as though she expected more people. "Have you no retainers?"

"No," Ormund answered bluntly. "I… have no retainers."  
_  
_ To her credit, she seemed unfazed by this. "You must go upstairs and rest. I will show you to your rooms. Lady Baratheon is resting. We are still in mourning for Lord Lyonel."

"Of course." Ormund had not known his cousin, had not even met him during the brief rebellion in which Ormund had served as his uncle Renly's squire. (Uncle Renly had viewed him as a poor squire, and had knighted him somewhat reluctantly and out of obligation to make him cease being his squire.) "We were sorry to hear of Lord Lyonel's passing."

Rhaelle nodded again. This seemed to be a common gesture for her. "Your rooms." She turned and proceeded up the stairs such that Ormund and Harbert had to hurry after her.

Ormund's room overlooked the sea, and he found himself wondering about the lord's chambers. Perhaps they weren't ready for him. Perhaps it would have to wait for after the wedding. Surely Lady Baratheon had not yet removed herself to the chambers of a lord's widow. 

"I'm taking a nap before dinner," Harbert said, and disappeared into his own room. Ormund didn't think he would be able to sleep, himself. He paced out his room. This guest room was the size of his father's room at home.

_This is home now._

He laid on the bed, trying to imagine sleeping on a bed like this every night. This was far from interesting. He rolled out of bed and went in search of his future wife.

"She'll be in Lord Lyonel's solar," a passing serving maid answered his query. She spoke with half a hint of disapproval, which was all the more intriguing. He practically scrambled up the steps following her directions. 

He hesitated in front of the heavy oak door. He decided it would be more diplomatic to knock, even though he was technically master of this castle now. He had not even been the knight of Antler Keep very long, or to very great effect. He was simply Ormund, or at least, that was how he felt.

"Enter."

Her voice was practically melodious. Part of him knew he was being silly, but all of this felt so much like a fairy story, that she might as well be a character from song. 

"You didn't want to rest?" she asked as he stepped inside. The rain was still lashing the windows and Ormund wondered if he ought to have changed his clothes rather than simply dry himself off.

"I don't suppose I can." He went to the window. "I wanted to see more of Storm's End."

She lifted her gaze from the ledger on the desk in front of her. "That can be arranged. I shall have the castellan, Ser Edigar—"

"Not you?" He hadn't meant to blurt it out so impolitely, but her raised eyebrow told him his question had been unwelcome.

"I have work to do," she said coolly. "Work that will be yours. Perhaps you would like to see that?"

"Yes. I would. Definitely." 

She gave him a skeptical look before turning the ledger so he could see it. "Tithes from your lords bannermen." 

He scanned the list, a knot forming in his stomach. He had only thought thus far about being Lord of Storm's end. He had not yet considered being Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. He swallowed hard.

"This will be one of your duties." She said it as though she didn't believe he knew the meaning of the word. 

"You must show me," he said. 

"Very well." She pulled another sheaf of parchment over.

For the next few hours, Rhaelle introduced Ormund to what would be expected of him as Lord of Storm's End. It was far more work than he had been expected to do at Antler Keep. 

"Lord Lyonel was ailing these past few months," she said. "I did a good deal of the work." 

"Then I hope you will help me." Ormund tried to draw himself up and speak authoritatively, but he felt very out of place. 

She looked at him for a moment, violet eyes narrowed. He swallowed hard and tucked his hair behind his ears, feeling as though he were being deeply assessed. 

"I would be glad to help you," she said. "If you will do your share of the work."

"Of course. I mean, we'll do it together. I mean, you know so much more than I do. You've been here at Storm's End for years already and I—I never thought I would actually—"

"I can imagine," she said. There was a long silence filled by nothing but the rain. "I must confess myself pleased that I get to marry someone near my own age, rather than waiting for a babe to grow up."

Ormund nodded. He wasn't sure how he felt about the main point in his favor being that he was past infancy. 

"When do you think the wedding might be?" He hadn't wanted to be so blunt, but he needed to find out as soon as possible. His mother had been quite insistent on it; she had kept telling him to make sure the marriage contract was valid. 

"In a few weeks, I should say." Rhaelle's attention was back to her papers. "When the mourning period is over. We'll have to work out who to invite and allow for the guests to travel." 

"I guess… my mother and my brother. My brother Mervin. Antler Keep is his now."

"We will have to invite all the lords bannermen. Even if they cannot attend, they will be expected to send something."

This sounded a little underhanded to Ormund, but he nodded.

"And my family," she added, sounding somewhat reluctant. "They will all be here." 

"The king?" 

"Yes." She was looking at him again like he didn't know anything. "He would not miss his youngest daughter's wedding."

Ormund swallowed hard again. "I never thought I'd be meeting the king."

"Well," she said briskly, "you must get used to the idea. It is your duty."

"I know." And yet, he found himself wishing there might have been some sort of mistake.

**

The next few weeks were busy enough that Rhaelle needed to prioritize. He liked this, for it meant that the usual useless faff could be set aside and only the necessary things completed. The invitations. The crop schedules. Allocations to those who lived on her land and were sworn to Storm's End.  
_  
Their_ land, she reminded herself. She ought to stop thinking of it as hers and start thinking of it as theirs. 

Once more, she glanced up at Ormund, whose head was bent over a list of their bannermen which he was attempting to memorize. He was an able pupil, despite his humble origins. Rhaelle had been doing so much of the work on her own following Lord Lyonel's illness that she almost forgot what it was like to share the burden. She had immediately dismissed Lady Baratheon as being of any use upon arriving at Storm's End, though she still tended to her as her duties compelled her. 

It was from Lord Lyonel she'd learned everything she knew about administration. Focusing on the routine duties of running Storm's End that still had to be done helped her to put off focusing on the wedding once her role in the preparation was over.

Thus, it seemed like a sudden development when wagons of goods began arriving in advance of the ceremony. The great hall was decked in black, gold, and red, dragons and stags everywhere. 

"Are you ready?" Ormund asked her. She had not even noticed him come up. 

Rhaelle lifted her chin and looked him firmly in the eyes. "Yes. Are you?"

She had expected him to show signs of nerves—one of the conclusions she'd reached in the past few weeks that Ormund Baratheon was jumpy and unsure of himself. He was certainly not the warrior his late cousin had been.

"Yes," he said firmly. And then he reached for her hand.

That sort of thing had been the furthest from her mind—she had a castle to run. But when Ormund's hand touched hers, it sent a spark shooting up her arm like lightning crackling over Shipbreaker Bay on a stormy night. 

Perhaps _this_ was what Shaera had been talking about.

**

As the days passed, Ormund threw himself into one task—learning everything he could about Storm's End. He climbed from top to bottom, multiple times, often with a grumbling Harbert at his side. 

"I need to know this," he said, when Harbert wondered why they needed to catalogue every tapestry on the third floor corridor. "I should know it."

The very next day, Harbert produced an inventory from somewhere, reminding Ormund that it had not been such a bad idea to bring his brother with him.

Three days before the wedding, the royal party arrived. He could tell they were coming by Rhaelle's rising anxiety, a contrast to her usual calm and rational self. She became even worse when an outrider announced their imminent arrival.

"Could you at least have combed your hair?" she snapped at Harbert.

He opened his mouth to object, but there was no time. The gates were opening, the heralds were announcing the arrival of the king, and Ormund noticed Harbert raking his fingers over his head as he dropped to his knees. 

_This is my goodfather_ , he thought wildly as the family was announced. _My goodmother, my goodsister, my goodbrothers._  
  
"Rise, son," the king said, and Ormund rose shakily to his feet. 

"Father." Rhaelle curtsied. She looked beautiful with her hair up like that, he realized. 

"Your Grace," he stammered. He forced himself to look the king full in the face. He had kind eyes, the same color as Rhaelle's. 

"I am pleased to meet you, my son."

Ormund was almost unaware of the rest of the castle's inhabitants rising, or of being presented to the queen and the royal siblings.

He felt as though he knew them all from the songs—the tale of Prince Duncan and Jenny of Oldstones had reached even Antler Keep, told by a wandering bard. 

He'd heard the tale of Shaera and Jaehaerys, who were too much in love with each other to wed others. 

And then there was Prince Daeron, who had not yet distinguished himself, but was sure to soon. 

Rhaelle smiled tightly as she greeted her parents and Shaera and Jaehaerys, but Ormund noted she had a real smile for Duncan and Daeron, though it was smaller for Lady Jenny.

He kept watching Rhaelle as she chatted with her family, looking more animated than he had ever seen her. They moved into the great hall, and Rhaelle called for refreshments. 

"Welcome to the family." Ormund turned to see Lady Jenny speaking to him.

He bowed. "Thank you, my lady."

She laughed. "Oh, don't you start! I had hoped we might have common ground. I know you are highborn, but I had heard you were not… _this_ highborn so I thought we might understand each other."

Ormund felt himself relax. "I feel as though I'm in a foreign land."

"You become used to it." She smiled. "I'm lucky in that when it's too much, Duncan and I can leave." 

Ormund glanced around the hall. He would not have that luxury. His gaze fell on Rhaelle, who was laughing with Daeron. "I don't think I will mind staying here."

**

So much work went into preparing that Rhaelle almost forgot there would be a wedding at the end of it.

She'd seen Ormund less than she would have liked to, and she found herself surprised by the desire to talk together, just the two of them, as they had in those rainy afternoons in her (their) solar, before the wedding guests had started to arrive. 

"Are you in love with him?" Shaera asked as she smoothed Rhaelle's maiden's cloak over her shoulders. It felt odd to see the dragon of House Targaryen in the mirror. She had spent the past four years surrounded by stags.

"No," she answered immediately. "But I am told it will come in time."

Shaera and Jenny exchanged glances. _You both married for love_ , Rhaelle thought, _and look where that has got us._ Perhaps it would be better if she remained undistracted by feelings.

Then she thought of Ormund's smile and felt one of her own growing on her face.

"Rhaelle," Jenny said gently. "Are you… ready? For tonight?"

"I've been told what goes on." This was a line of discussion she wanted to stop immediately. She didn't want Jenny to talk to her about that, because that would necessitate thinking about Dunk doing that.

Jenny looked as though she might say something else, but she wisely stopped.

"You look beautiful," Shaera told her. "He will find you irresistible." 

This was even more uncomfortable, but Rhaelle said nothing. She smiled at her reflection, which seemed to please Shaera.

At least she was marrying Ormund. Ormund would be a decent man to be married to. 

The skies were abnormally clear as she crossed the yard to the sept with Shaera, Jenny, and her parents. She decided to take that as a good omen, though she had grown to love storms. 

"You are making us proud," Father said. "You have done your duty well."

It sounded so much like what he'd said on the day she'd left King's Landing. 

_Yes_ , she thought firmly as she took his arm. _I am the only child who's done what you told them to._

At the end of the aisle, Ormund looked palpably nervous. That was sort of his general state, but she thought he would have become more used to her by now. 

"It's only me," she told him in a low voice when she reached him. 

"And all of _them_."

"Don't think about them." She squeezed his hand. "It's just us." She wondered where this drive to reassure him had come from, or why she liked so much that he brought her hand up and kissed it, all without breaking his gaze. It made a strange thrill of pleasurable anticipation run down her spine. 

She concentrated resolutely on the septon's words, thought afterward, she would not have been able to recall a single one. The only moment she retained with clarity was Ormund's hands—surprisingly strong, though he was not a man not given to physical pursuits—pinning her new bride's cloak into place.

_Yes_ , she thought, as she looked at the crowned stag streaming down her back. _This feels more right._

**

As the feast wore on, a lead weight of dread settled in Ormund's stomach. He did not want a bedding. By the time the pie was finished, he realized he had become fidgety, nervous about the moment the first bawdy remark would come. 

Indeed, it was Harbert, who rose from his seat and bellowed like a stag in rut, which made Ormund regret bringing him to Storm's End. The hall erupted into chatter, about dragons' claws and antlers. 

"I don't understand why they feel the need to make us do this," Rhaelle murmured. 

Ormund's heart swelled. At least she felt the same way, though he didn't know how it could ever have been any different. He almost smiled at the idea of Rhaelle consenting to the bedding.

"We are leaving, Father," she said, rising quickly and seizing Ormund's wrist. As though the weather was under her control, a rumble of thunder echoed through the hall.

The king did not look surprised at all. "Go," he said. "It seems you may be able to slip out before anyone realizes."

Rhaelle led him purposely, still by the hand, up the stairs. The lord's chambers had been prepared for him for tonight, his first time sleeping in them. 

He swallowed hard. His first time for several things.

Rhaelle was completely businesslike. "I can't get this off myself," she said, indicating the fastenings on her gown. "You will have to help me."

It wasn't romantic, but it was very Rhaelle. 

He moved forward to help her, surprised to find that his hands were not shaking. There was a flash of lightning from outside. She really was beautiful, though he no longer saw her as his princess, his reward for having done nothing. She was going to be his partner in managing this destiny he had never expected. 

With shaking hands, he reached out to cup her face, slowly so that she could reject his advances if she wanted to, but it seemed she was disinclined to do so.

**

Rhaelle was obliged to put up with them for the next few weeks and was beginning to remember tales she had heard of wedding guests staying six months when her father announced one day at breakfast that he needed to get back to court. 

"It isn't that I don't like them," she told Ormund as they watched from the ramparts as the royal party rode away up the Kingsroad. "It just makes me remember why coming here in the first place was a sort of relief."

"I like your brothers," he said, nodding to the training yard below where Daeron and Harbert were sparring while Dunk shouted advice of varying levels of usefulness. They had remained behind for at least a little while longer, not having hunted nearly enough in the woods around Storm's End.

"Yes," she agreed. "And I like yours."

"You like Harbert?"

She smiled. "Oh yes." 

"But not in that way," she added, upon seeing his face twist in confusion. She leaned in and kissed him. They'd been doing that quite a lot lately, but she enjoyed it each time. 

She pushed herself off the wall she'd been leaning on. "We need to thank the stormlords for their well-wishes on our marriage." 

"Do we?"

She slipped her arm around his waist. "Work first."

They walked this way toward the stairs and her head dropped onto his shoulder. Ormund shut the door, but it did not drown out the waves and the wind.

**Author's Note:**

> I've always been fascinated by these two, especially since Ormund is called Lord Lyonel's "heir," not his son, so I decided he wasn't. All the rest of his backstory is my invention, though Harbert is Robert, Stannis, and Renly's great-uncle from canon (though we don't know if he was even their mother or father's uncle).


End file.
